The Marshal Meets His Match (8 page)

The minutes dragged by as he gazed unseeingly at the tidy ranch yard, fingers drumming on the arm of the rocker. Flower beds sported a few early delicate blooms, a kitchen garden boasted rows of emerging greenery, and neat fences spread out and away, delineating pasturage. All lent a well-cared-for air to the place, yet they failed to register beyond a vague awareness as Wyatt turned the day over in his mind. He needed to separate the few pieces he’d found and examine them thoroughly; see if, and where, each piece fit into the puzzle of the bank robbery.

“You gonna sit staring into space all day, or do you want to ride in with me?” Jonah laughed at his blink of surprise when he looked up to see the sergeant already mounted.

Wyatt hurried off the porch and swung into the saddle. “Don’t get uppity, Sergeant, or I’ll put you on report!”

Jonah’s laugh rang as they turned their horses toward town.

* * *

Meri imagined the look on the marshal’s face when he realized she was gone, and grinned. She’d eaten lunch while Ms. Maggie fussed about the holdup and Boss man’s injury and had just finished packing a bag when she’d seen the marshal and Jonah riding out. Planning to ride with them and speak to Barnaby herself, she’d instead been ordered to stay put. She’d tried to argue they could get back to town quicker if they combined their tasks but had been completely ignored as the overbearing man had ridden away at a lope. She’d nearly gone back to town then and there but had curtailed the impulse. The job she’d left her wounded father’s side to do wouldn’t be completed to her satisfaction until she’d spoken with Barnaby.

Time had crawled as she’d prowled the barns and grounds, repeatedly answering the question, “How’s Boss man?” from worried ranch hands who wanted the information straight from her. Impatience had finally gotten the best of her, and she’d been saddling Sandy to go find the foreman herself when he’d ridden in. Having already heard the latest update on McIsaac from Jonah and the marshal, Barnaby had quickly filled her in on ranch happenings. He had things well in hand and had promised to send a rider in frequently with news of the ranch and to check on Boss man. Faither would be pleased, but not surprised, at Barnaby’s capable management in their absence.

Thanking him for his diligent care of the ranch, she’d tied her bag to Abe’s saddle, shoved her .44-40 Winchester carbine into the rifle boot, mounted Sandy and left the annoying marshal to fend for himself. The nerve-rattling tension was absent on this leg of the journey, and Meri smugly congratulated herself on getting back to town on her own terms. She shoved away the ridiculous notion that the trip seemed rather dull in comparison to the ride to the ranch.

Heavenly Father, please heal Faither so we can return home and life can get back to normal…without that bossy marshal.

The silent prayer evaporated before she finished, and the peace she’d tasted earlier was nowhere to be found. All the joy she normally experienced when riding her lovely palomino failed to materialize, and even the satisfaction at having outsmarted a certain lawman tasted stale.

The unexpectedly disappointing ride finally neared the end, and Meri breathed a sigh of relief as she approached the edge of town. Pausing, she heard echoing hoofbeats behind her. Spying a suitable hiding place in the brush alongside the road, she situated herself and Sandy, tied Abe’s lead rope around his neck and tapped his hip to send him on down the road. She was rewarded shortly when the cowboy who’d been surreptitiously following her rode into view. He pulled his horse up short when he saw Abe grazing along the roadside alone. He glanced around suspiciously.

“You can head home now, Shorty. Tell Barnaby and Ms. Maggie I made it to town in one piece,” she said dryly, nudging Sandy out of hiding.

Shorty touched the brim of his hat and turned his horse, a sheepish smile at being caught on his face.

Meri grinned at him. It had become a game to see if she could spot the rider tailing her. Some were better at staying hidden then others, but she knew someone was always within earshot on her “solitary” rides.

There had been Indian trouble in several areas of the newly formed state, but they hadn’t had a problem in this area for many years. She felt so safe on the ranch, she often forgot she lived in what Easterners called the “Wild” West and took off alone on Sandy. Her father allowed this, as she was always armed, but quietly arranged for additional protection. Meri suspected her father, himself, followed her from time to time and was one of the riders she felt but never saw or caught.

Faither.

Her throat ached with a sudden tightness as she remembered him lying so still, blood pooling on the bank floor. She couldn’t handle losing him, too.

Meri turned her head in the direction of the cemetery where her mother’s body lay. The burial ground sprawled along a high slope a little over a half a mile from the western edge of town, out of danger of any floodwaters from Little Creek.

Retrieving the happily grazing Abe, Meri detoured and headed that direction. She’d not been back to her mother’s grave since the funeral. She knew only the shell of the loving wife and mother was there, but the loss seemed so bitterly final there that Meri only wanted to avoid it. The cemetery represented nothing but death and heartache to her.

She missed her mother so much she physically ached sometimes. She missed her hugs, her laugh. She missed the way her mother would lovingly call her by her full name—America Catriona. She didn’t need a cold gray headstone to reinforce her loss.

Today, however, she forced herself to keep riding toward it. She should at least check on her mother’s plot. Then when Faither awoke, she’d be able to tell him she’d checked on the ranch
and
Mother.

Nearing the graveyard, she noticed movement between the tree line bordering the top edge of the cemetery and a ridiculously ornate crypt. Meri halted Sandy. The crypt was the local oddity, having been built by an eccentric miner who’d struck it rich. He’d resided around Little Creek long enough to see it completed before moving on to follow rumors of another gold strike and leaving the empty, imported-marble monstrosity looking disdainfully down upon meager creek-stone or wooden markers. Two marble lions guarded the door of the vault, but they proved inadequate protection against curiosity seekers and mischievous boys.

Meri fully expected to see a couple of those boys now, but instead, Mr. Samuels appeared around the side of it, head down, walking slowly. She felt her eyes widen in surprise. He hadn’t been out and about much since the theft at the bank, owing to his own head injury, and he must have walked because she didn’t see his buggy anywhere. Why was he wandering around up there anyway? His wife’s grave plot was down near the front of the cemetery not far from her mother’s plot. Had the blow to his head left him a little confused?

He glanced up, saw her and flinched as if startled. Meri lifted her hand to wave, but he ducked his head and scurried down the slope of the graveyard. Reaching his wife’s grave, he knelt, turning his back to her.

Meri felt for him. She understood how it was when someone intruded on your private grief and quietly turned the horses away from the cemetery with a sense of relief for the reprieve. She could always come back later when she wouldn’t be interrupting anyone, and she really needed to get the horses tended to and return to Faither. She’d been gone far too long already.

Several minutes later Meri dismounted in front of Dr. Kilburn’s and looped the reins around the hitching post. Taking her satchel off Abe, she saw a tall boy walking toward her. “Billy?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Are you available to run an errand for me?”

“Yup, I was keepin’ a lookout for ya. I’m to let Mrs. Van Deusen know when you get back here ‘cause she’s gonna bring you a plate of supper, and she’ll give me my choice of candy next time I’m in the store.” Billy nodded, grinning. “I reckon I kin do that when I run your errand.”

Meri grinned in response to Billy’s freckled, friendly one. “Yes, I reckon you can. I’ll give you a nickel if you’ll walk Sandy and Abe over to Franks’s, and tell him I’ll come see him as soon as I can.”

“Yes, ma’am! I’ll take real good care of ‘em! And Mrs. Van Deusen’ll bring you a real nice supper when I tell ‘er you’re back.” Billy’s grin stretched even wider as Meri placed the promised nickel in the grimy outstretched hand.

“By the way, why is Mrs. Van Deusen bringing me supper?” Meri asked.

“On account a Mrs. Kilburn havin’ to sit with somebody who’s sick, I guess. Mrs. Van Deusen said she’d take care of you and Doc this evenin’.” Billy carefully untied Abe and Sandy.

Meri took her bag and slid her carbine out of the saddle scabbard, stepped back and watched as the lanky adolescent proudly led the two steeds down the middle of the road, whistling and calculating whether to spend or save the precious nickel.

“I’m glad you’re back so soon, Meri,” Dr. Kilburn said gravely as he opened the front door and waved Meri inside.

Meri’s heart lurched in fear. “Faither?”

“He’s taken a turn for the worse.” His tone was sober and regretful.

If Dr. Kilburn was worried, it must be bad. Fear swallowed Meri. This couldn’t be happening. Not again!

She ran for the room where her father lay. Reaching for the door handle, she stared at her full hands. She’d forgotten she was still carrying her bag and carbine. Her frantic brain wasn’t able to coordinate the task of setting down the items to turn the knob.

Doc reached around her and opened the door before gently relieving her of the items. Meri hastened over and collapsed to her knees at the edge of the bed. Her father looked so much worse since just this morning. His breathing was labored, his skin flushed and damp with perspiration and creases slashed across his drawn face in cruel lines.

It was only a bump on the head and a slight wound! People recovered from worse. Why wasn’t her father recovering? Looking up at Doc, she croaked, “Why…?”

Doc seemed to understand what she couldn’t voice. “He’s fighting infection in that bullet wound, and his fever is rising. He’s not responding to anything I’ve given him.”

A soft tap sounded on the door frame, and Pastor Willis stepped into the room. “I stopped to check on Ian.”

Doc repeated what he’d told Meri. As he finished speaking, Pastor Willis dropped to his knees alongside Meri and placed his hand on McIsaac’s shoulder. Speaking quietly, he prayed aloud for healing and restoration, wisdom for Doc and peace for Meri. When he finished, he turned to her. “Is there anything I or the church members can do for you besides keeping people informed and praying?”

Meri shook her head then stopped as an idea pierced through the fog in her brain. “Uh, maybe. Do you remember the sermon you preached once about calling for the elders of the church?”

“Yes, I do—James 5:14 and 15. ‘Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord: And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up…’”

“That’s the one. Would you do that for Faither?”

“Of course, dear. All you had to do was ask. I’ll go notify the men of the church and bring them back here as quickly as possible.” Pastor Willis patted Meri on the hand, pushed himself to his feet and left the room.

“Is there anything I can do to help Faither while we wait?”

“I’ll get some fresh water, and you can sponge his face and neck to give him some relief from the fever. That’s what I was doing when I heard you arrive.” Picking up a basin and wet cloth from the bedside stand, he left the room.

Meri dropped her face into her hands. Fear sat so heavy on her chest it was difficult to draw a breath, and she trembled all over. Her heart labored with hard, painful thuds. She couldn’t have stood to her feet if she were forced at the point of a gun.

A gun
.

The nasty urge to find the man who’d injured her father swept over Meri in a black rage. Oh, how she wanted to hurt the man who’d done this! Do to him what he’d done to her father! Anger surged through her temporarily replacing fear, and Meri shot to her feet as Dr. Kilburn reentered the room carrying a fresh cloth and basin of water.

“Here, keep your hands busy and your father a little cooler.”

Meri moved to do his bidding, tenderly wiping her father’s face repeatedly with the cool wet cloth while chewing on the anger raging through her and envisioning what she would do when she got her hands on the person who had caused her father’s injury.

It was some time before she paid any attention to the quiet nudging in her spirit to pray, to forgive, and when she did, she couldn’t push any words past her clenched teeth or her even tighter heart. The man who did this didn’t deserve to be forgiven, her emotions argued.

Giving up the halfhearted struggle, anger and fear once again vied for dominance, and the bitter ache that had resided in her heart since her mother’s death shaped itself into a hard, defiant, angry knot.

Meri lost track of time and jumped when she heard subdued voices and multiple feet entering the house. Laying aside the wet cloth and grabbing a nearby towel, she hastily dried her hands, smoothed back her hair and straightened her clothes. She wished she’d taken a moment to change into fresh attire, but she was out of time. A knock sounded, and she stiffened her spine and took a deep breath before stepping to the door to open it.

Pastor Willis entered the room followed by six more men, all showing signs of having recently and hastily washed up from their day’s labors. The men included Mr. Benhard, the Western Union agent; Mr. Allen, the surveyor; Mr. Gumperston, owner of the cafe; Mr. Hubert, the barber; Mr. Van Deusen and Franks. All were members and elders of Little Creek Baptist Church, and hearing the clock chime from the parlor, Meri realized that these men, in all probability, had delayed their supper by coming to pray for her father. The knot in her chest softened just a bit at this display of concern and care for him, and she struggled to swallow past the lump that blocked her throat.

Dr. Kilburn was last through the door, behind the solemn little troop, and ushered Meri through the now-crowded room to seat her in the rocker. Pastor Willis stood at the end of the bed and pulled a small Bible out of the pocket of his black frock coat. After flipping through the pages, he stopped and read aloud the passage from James 5 before asking the assembled men to take turns praying.